David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

‘Yeah. Clear, sure, but not particularly illuminating.’

‘Fine. Like I said, that’s your problem, not mine. So let’s go back into the study where we can talk in comfort until I decide to throw you out.’

We did. Paetinius settled into his chair behind the desk. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m all ears. Make your pitch.’

I sat down opposite him. ‘You had a deal going with Eutacticus’s accountant Astrapton, who was ripping off his employer. You paid off his gambling debt at the Golden Fleece and promised him a bolt-hole if things got difficult. In exchange, he supplied inside information on Eutacticus’s upcoming business deals and acted as facilitator and accomplice in your plans for getting rid of his stepson. You wanted Luscius out of the way because Eutacticus was planning to adopt him formally. Which would mean your own son – who might well be Eutacticus’s – would be out of the legal running if Eutacticus died without a clear male heir.’

I paused for comment, but Paetinius didn’t respond, or even give an indication that he’d noticed. His face didn’t give anything away, either.

‘Astrapton set Luscius up; how he managed that I’m not exactly sure yet, but the details don’t matter. In any case, he decoyed him and his slave to the grotto at the back of the garden. Your son had come over the wall earlier – or it may not’ve been your son, just one of your “people”, again it doesn’t matter – and together they did the actual killing. Then they hid the bodies in the grotto, Astrapton pretended he’d seen the two of them leave, and that was that.’ I stopped again, and waited. Nothing. The guy’s face was still expressionless, and again he hadn’t moved. I could’ve been talking to myself. ‘You care to comment, pal?’

Paetinius grunted and shrugged. ‘It’s an interesting theory, I’ll give you that much,’ he said.

‘And?’

‘Where it falls down is that most of it’s a load of balls.’

‘Really? You care to tell me which bits aren’t, maybe?’

‘Certainly. I bought Astrapton, sure, you have that right, and he was cheap at the price. Best twenty-five thousand I ever spent, and would’ve been even if I hadn’t had a copper of it back just to know I was rubbing Eutacticus’s nose in the shit. As it is, from what I made out of information supplied I reckon I’m a good two or three million up on the deal, so I’m not complaining, especially if Eutacticus knows now that I’ve been responsible for shafting him. Same goes for giving Astrapton a new place. I can always use a smart young man with a good working knowledge of the business, and if he’s decided that it’s time for a career change then I’d be delighted to oblige.’ He smiled, but the marble-chip eyes didn’t change. ‘Particularly since it’ll mean pushing that bastard on the Pincian’s face just a little bit deeper down.’

‘Yeah, well, there’s a slight problem with that now, isn’t there?’

The smile disappeared. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Astrapton’s dead. Someone cut his throat for him.’

‘What? ’

‘Don’t tell me. You didn’t know.’

‘Of course I didn’t. Why should I?’

‘If my theory’s right after all, pal, you’d have reason. The guy was an embarrassing loose end connecting you with young Luscius’s murder. Besides, he’d already served his purpose. His cover was blown, and if he’d cheated on one boss he could cheat on another. All in all, he’d be better off out of the way.’

‘You’re saying I killed him?’

‘It’d make sense. You or your son or your people, the details don’t matter. And you’d know where he was holed up, because if he was planning on that career change he’d’ve made sure you knew how to get in touch.’

Paetinius laughed. ‘Corvinus, that’s pure garbage. I’d no idea where Astrapton was, I’d nothing to do with his death, and as sure as hell I wasn’t responsible for Luscius’s.’ He stood up. ‘Now piss off. Interview over.’

Well, I’d hardly been expecting him to come up with an admission. And if he was guilty – the jury was still well and truly out on that one – then I reckoned that as far as bars-rattling went I’d done a pretty good job. I got up, thanked him politely for his time, and pissed off.

The sun was into its third quarter when I came down Patricius Incline to the main drag. There was no point in rushing straight home, and besides a bit of quiet contemplation and retrenching was in order. Not to mention a light lunch: I’d skipped breakfast, and after walking across half of Rome my tongue was hanging out. So I found a little wineshop tucked away in a courtyard off Staurus Street and settled in with a half-jug of Praetutian, some Picenan bread and a plateful of goat’s cheese and olives.

Right; so what had we got? More exactly, what hadn’t we got? Bars-rattling was all very well, but the Larus angle hadn’t proved too promising, to say the least. Publilius had been a crook, sure, but he was small-time and by his lights he’d struck me as honest enough; if we were looking for a destination for Astraptus’s crates then I’d bet a fairly hefty sum that he wasn’t it. He had too much to lose for a start; like Eutacticus had said, anyone who was on the shady side of things wouldn’t touch Astrapton with a bargepole, because they’d know that however big and tempting their cut of the deal was when Eutacticus found out they’d be swimming the Tiber with concrete sandals. My guess was that this Larus was an innocent who didn’t know what he was into, a shipper or a carter that Astrapton had contracted to transfer the goodies to a safe location, probably using a false name as well as the false description of the crates’ contents. In which case the chances of finding him were practically zilch: Rome and Ostia are full of small entrepreneurs who’ll gladly take on orders where not much actual bulk’s involved, and who wouldn’t ask too many questions so long as they get their money upfront, because why should they? All this assuming, of course, that Larus was a real name and not one that Astrapton had used for his own reference, avoiding the actual one for reasons of security and maybe even choosing it deliberately to point anyone snooping in the wrong direction, so that even ‘practically zilch’ was an optimistic assessment…

Bugger. The more I thought about it the worse it got.

Paetinius, though, was another matter. That guy I wouldn’t’ve trusted as far as I could spit, because as far as helping Astrapton to squirrel away his ill-gotten gains was concerned he had motive, means and opportunity in spades. For a start, he hated Eutacticus like poison, and making things easy for his accountant to smuggle a couple of million sesterces’-worth of bullion out from under his nose would’ve tickled his questionable sense of humour no end. Second, who else would Astrapton turn to? He’s working for the guy already, so he’s the natural choice; and if Paetinius didn’t object to his protege doing a bit of moonlighting – which I’d bet he wouldn’t – he couldn’t do any better, because Paetinius would have the contacts to make the thing happen. And it would be yet another reason, besides the security aspect of things, for Paetinius to stiff him: if he knew what Astrapton had done with the money, then once the guy was safely dead he could collect himself and be another two million up on the deal.

For much the same reasons I didn’t put too much credence into his denial of involvement in Luscius’s death, either: for him and his son to be responsible fitted both the facts and the theory like a glove. And that he wouldn’t’ve admitted to, never, no way, nohow. Screwing a competitor financially is one thing; however much Eutacticus foamed at the mouth and cursed the guy blue, he’d accepted that it’d been just in the way of business, or whatever you like to call it. But murdering one of the guy’s family was a whole different ball game. I’d heard Eutacticus on the subject, and if I’d gone back to him to report that Paetinius had admitted having Luscius killed it would’ve been war to the knife. Paetinius wouldn’t risk that, no matter how confident he was that he could look after himself.